Taking One for the Team
by DjDangerLove
Summary: Sometimes it's the little run of bad luck that causes the most damage. Like running out of bullets causes the most blood to be shed. Arthur, Eames and Cobb are about to figure that out. Friendship two-shot. No slash.
1. Chapter 1

"What are you doing?" Arthur practically yelled at his teammate as he crouched down behind a storage container at the shipyard they were currently being chased in. Eames knelt beside him, gun in hand, and he carefully peered around the corner of their protection. "Are you trying to get us killed?"

Eames fought back the urge to roll his eyes. "No," He whispered over his shoulder as he watched one of their attackers come around a wrecked ship in the yard, "just you."

"Well you've almost succeed a couple of times now." Arthur snapped back, lowering his voice to match Eames'. He peered around the other side of the storage container they hid behind.

"Third times the charm then?" Eames questioned with a smirk he was unable to hide. He moved back to lean against the container for a minute out of sight. Arthur did the same, their shoulders touching as they crouched trying to catch their breath.

"We're not dreaming, Mr. Eames." Arthur stated for good measure, though he was fully aware that his teammate knew that the dangers they faced were dangers of reality. "I would like to, for once, return from one of our ventures unscathed."

Eames glanced sideways at the point man. "Cobb and Yusuf should be out any minute. Think you can managed to last five more minutes without being _scathed_?" He grinned.

Arthur glared at him as if to say, 'you're looking at the best point man in the business', before shaking his head and pushing himself away from the container to once again peer around the edge. "I can last as long as I need to, but with your little daredevil stunts it'll be cutting it close." He grumbled as Eames peered around the same side.

"Then we shall split up." The older man stated cocking his gun and preparing to dart out from behind their protection to draw the four gunmen's attention so that Cobb and Yusuf had more time inside of the building to find the files they needed. He turned back towards Arthur and grinned. "But don't stay away from me for too long, Darling. Meet me back at the rendezvous point in five minutes."

Arthur rolled his eyes, but nodded. Before Eames could turn back around, Arthur had ran out from behind the container, gun blazing and drawing two of the four men away from where the forger still hid.

"And he blames me for his misfortunes. Idiot." Eames muttered before aiming his gun at the men chasing after the younger man and shooting one in the back. The other disappeared behind the other boats on the lot, as did Arthur. Suddenly, bullets were flying by and without a second's hesitation, he ran out from behind the container with his own gun blazing.

* * *

Eames' legs burned with every fierce step they took as he ran around the ship yard dodging bullets. He could hear gunfire somewhere close by but off in the distance, which meant he was safe to assume Arthur was still holding his own. He saw a gunman appear at the end of the row of storage containers he was running through and quickly cut down through another row. He made a few left turns and a couple of right before suddenly emptying out into a wide open space near the edge of the dock with water from the lake crashing up against the wood. He came to a halt, doing his best to scan his surroundings for a place of protection. He came up empty and was left out in the open. Checking his gun, he realized things were going down hill fast.

He was out of bullets with two men who wanted to kill him coming up behind him.

* * *

Arthur dove to the left around a large ship at the sound of yet another bullet being released. His foot slipped in grease when he made the sharp turn causing his leg to skid across the pavement. He felt the sting as he clambered back up to his feet to keep running. He turned around and fired at the gunman chasing him. He missed and sped up.

He felt something warm running down the side of his leg and with a quick glance he could see through the rip in his pants it was blood seeping from the tears in his skin. He mentally cursed before skidding around another container to shield himself, then firing again.

The sound of returning gunshots and bullets hitting the container told him he had missed again.

He checked the chamber of his weapon.

He only had two bullets left.

* * *

Eames laid his gun on the ground before slowly raising his arms in surrender to the two men standing on either side of him, their guns pointed to kill, not wound.

"Easy, mates. Can't we go out for some brews and talk this over?"

The cocking of their weapons supplied a definitive no.

He wracked his brain for a plan of any kind. He heard the water hitting the wood of the edge of the dock behind him and knew that that was his only escape route, but one step in any direction he was sure to be dead before his body even hit the ground.

His only other option of survival was Arthur and the silence that had settled over the shipyard had him swallowing thickly. Either Arthur had dealt with the other gunman, or the point man had suffered the same fate Eames himself was about to meet.

* * *

"Shit."

Arthur took off running yet again, but as he rounded the corner of a row of ships he could faintly make out the outlines of three men. At first, he thought that Cobb and Yusuf had finished up inside and were standing with Eames, but as he got closer he realized that wasn't the case at all.

He noticed Eames hands raised in surrender and knew they were in trouble. He glanced back and saw the man chasing him a ways back. He looked back towards the dock. Two men had the forger at gunpoint. Remembering he had only two bullets left, he cut down back to the other end of the shipyard, the man chasing him following quickly behind.

* * *

"What are you doing here?" One of the men yelled. "What do you want?"

"What I want is to put a bullet in the both of you and kick the point man's ass."

Eames grounded out, scanning the shipyard for any sign of Arthur.

"Point man, huh? So what was this? A little game of cops and robbers with your friend?" The other man asked, his gun still aimed at the forger's head. "I hate to be the one to tell you this, but your friend didn't make it. I saw his body myself." Eames did his best not to clench his teeth. "Oh, but don't worry. Looks like he went down a fighter with a few bullets holes in him."

The other gunman chuckled. "Yeah, he was like a cockroach. Just couldn't quite kill him, so we left him to bleed out."

"Just like were going to do to you."

Eames took a deep, raging breath through his nose as he watched the two men steady their weapons and prepare to shoot. He took one more breath, preparing to charge the man on his right, because he would be dammed if he didn't go down without a fight, when the sound of two gunshots rang through the air.

* * *

Arthur ran as hard as he could, as fast as he could. The man was catching him, but Arthur was getting closer to Eames. With one last turn, he followed the isle of containers until he spilled out on the dock. He raised his gun with a sense of vigorous determination and deadly precision, killed the gunman on the left, killed the gunman on the right and kept running towards Eames.

* * *

Eames wasn't a man to be surprised very easily. While he had refused to believe Arthur was dead, he couldn't quite stop the pang of relief that flooded him when the point man suddenly appeared on the dock. The relief was short lived however, as Arthur never ceased his running. He didn't even slow down.

His brow twisted in confusion, before Arthur charged right into him, the point man's arm wrapping around his torso in a tackle like motion. Eames was barely aware of being pushed backwards into the lake because all of his attention was on the gunshot that rang out.

* * *

Arthur knew that the only way to keep the last gunman from killing the both of them right then and there was to make it to the water. He knew that the man was gaining on them and realized he wouldn't have enough time to relay his plan to Eames. Although Eames was bigger than him, he would have initial feeling of surprise on his side as he ran as hard and as fast as his legs would carry him towards the forger and at the very last second he wrapped his arm around the man and plunged them both backwards into the lake.

He didn't feel himself hit the water. But he did feel the bullet.

* * *

Eames came up out of the water coughing and spluttering the liquid that he had swallowed upon hitting the water. He wiped the water out of his eyes and looked around for the point man. He felt his stomach begin to twist when the younger man didn't appear. He was about to dive back under to search for him, when Arthur emerged from the green lake water beside him.

Arthur's head bobbled up and down, in and out of the water like he couldn't swim. Eames knew he could and that only sent fire through his veins.

He carefully wrapped an arm around Arthur's torso and swam under the dock so the gunman wouldn't see them at first. He knew that the man would think to shoot through the walk, so he knew he had to think of something quick, but first things first.

"Arthur?" He questioned in a hushed tone as he spit out some of the lake water that had slipped through. He felt the younger man twist and swim out from under his arm, but was hesitant to let him swim on his own.

Arthur grimaced as he stayed above water just by kicking his legs and moving one arm. He left his other dangling in the water by his side. "Ah, dammit!"

The forger glanced up through the cracks of the wood of the dock, knowing the gunman would appear at the edge any second. "We can curse your misfortunes later. Right now, we have to-" Eames' reply was cut off by more gunfire.

But this time it wasn't directed at them.

* * *

Arthur grabbed Cobb's outstretched hand with his good arm while keeping his right, injured arm drawn against his body. He was vaguely aware of the extractor pulling him up out of the water because he was doing his best to scowl at the forger who was pushing against his butt to help Cobb get him out of the water.

The extractor guided him to sit down and lean against a wooden post of the dock, while Yusuf helped Eames from the lake. He had noticed the blood trail on the way and knew that the wound was bleeding heavily. He knelt down next to his friend, black hair plastered to his forehead making him look much younger, his face pale and body shivering, and removed Arthur's jacket slowly. Upon the younger man's hiss, he quietly apologized before taking off his own suit jacket and draping it over Arthur's legs and torso. He watched skinny, fumbling fingers grasp it tight as the point man tried to bury himself down in it.

Eames and Yusuf had come up behind him and were squatting down beside their teammate. One look at Eames and his un-shivering body, told him that the water wasn't cold enough to make Arthur as cool as he was. His gaze met the others'.

Eames nodded at him and Yusuf began ripping a piece of material from his own jacket sleeve. Cobb spoke in a practiced calm demeanor. "It isn't a through and through. The bullet is still in his shoulder. We'll have to take him to a doctor."

"Devohn owes me. He will treat him. I'll call him on the way." Yusuf responded as he helped the extractor wrap the profusely bleeding wound in torn pieces of material.

Arthur groaned and arched his back at the pressure, but Eames caught him gently by the biceps and kept him steady. "Hey, don't you think you've ruined my shirt enough with that disgusting lake water? No need to be getting blood on it, now."

Eames watched as Arthur did his very best to glare, but the glazed look in his eyes made it hard to appreciate. "I...I saved...your-r life. But of cour-rse...all you care about...is your ugly shirt." The point man was shivering almost uncontrollably so. Shock was setting in quick. They had to move.

Eames grinned, despite the feeling in his chest. "Let's not start with the dramatics just yet. I don't think that was such a daring rescue. I had it under control." He shot back, before glancing up at Yusuf and Cobb. Yusuf stood and ran to get a vehicle, while Cobb maneuvered himself so that he could help Eames left the point man into a standing position.

"Yes...Mr. Eames. I'm...I'm sure you d-did." The sarcasm that Arthur's voice should have been laced with was non-existent. But all three of them knew it wasn't because Arthur was serious.

"I think Yusuf and I saved the both of you. Arthur, can you walk?" Cobb asked.

The younger man snorted. "Yes. Of course. I...I was shot-t in the..s-shoudler. Not the..the kneecaps."

"If you get blood on my shirt, you just might be able to put that on the list." Eames supplied, pulling Arthur's good arm around his shoulders while Cobb carefully supported the other arm. They heard the injured man say, "You ran out of bullets." before both men stood, pulling the youngest one with them.

"So did you." Eames shot back.

They were still a few moments, giving Arthur's apparent dizziness to subside, before attempting to make it back across the shipyard to where Yusuf could pick them up.

The first few steps were fine, but the ones that followed progressively got slower and more difficult as the point man began sagging between them.

Eames was the first to say something about the man's fleeting consciousness. "Hey, remember saying that you wanted to come back from one of our ventures unscathed? Well you can't very well do that unless you come back from this one, can you?"

"Almost there, Arthur. Come on, stay with us." Cobb encouraged, but it was of little use.

The point man's feet were practically dragging the ground and consciousness was soon to be lost. Cobb glanced at Eames, who glanced back before reluctantly stopping.

"Alright then, darling. Have it your way. But just so you know, just because you may have taken a bullet for me doesn't mean I can't hold this against you later." The forger stated as he picked up the point man in an uncomfortable bridal hold, careful not to jar his shoulder too much.

He awaited the much needed retort and protests, but when he received none he looked down to see that the point man was no longer with them.

* * *

**AN: This was going to be a one-shot, but seeing as how I've ended it where I have I suppose it will be a two-shot. Let me know what you think and if you're interested in the second half. Thanks for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

The car sped through the streets, regardless of any and all traffic laws or human decency. Yusuf kept his eyes on the road, his hands on the wheel. Cobb kept his right hand just under his nose, his elbow propped on the window of the passenger's side. The fingers of his left hand curled around the totem that reminded him of the harrowing reality they were all in. He glanced over his shoulder occasionally but not long enough to take in detail.

From the back seat, with Arthur's head on his thigh, blood spilling out from the wound in his shoulder and slipping through the slits in Eames' hands, the forger was reminded of his time in the military.

After an attack, the ones that remained in the land of the living, even if by a thread, would cram back into the Humvee and speed back to base with the very life spilling out in crimson of every wounded man, every soul slipping out of content.

Eames looked out through the window passed his ragged and soaked reflection. He saw blurred forms of buildings and silhouettes of people going on about their daily lives on the sidewalk.

There was no dust from the deserts swirling up around the tires as they sped through the streets. No smoke rising in the sky from the fires in the small villages just outside of the combat zone. The sound of gunfire was only in Eames' head, as quiet as the popping of popcorn, but enough to make him want to flinch. The car lacked the smell of gunpowder, cigarettes, and the smell of body odor that every soldier got use to, but the smell of blood was enough to make his stomach churn.

He focused on the people outside. The ones that smiled as they spoke on the phone to someone they loved or wanted to love. The ones that sang along to whatever song playing through their earphones. The ones that bumped into someone they passed and turned around to say excuse me and even the ones that didn't.

He watched them live their lives as if nothing in the world was horribly wrong. As if the blood staining his hands wasn't important enough to make their heads turn. He felt a fire lick his veins and maybe that was why he put more pressure on Arthur's wound.

He tore his gaze away from the people who didn't realize the world might stop spinning at any second and took notice in the weather. It was the kind of day that made their predicament seem that much more horrifying.

It wasn't the cliched dark weather that swelled in the sky and made the paleness of every man's skin appear almost translucent except for the emotion molding their faces.

No.

The sun shown bright through the cracks left by the buildings of the city and cast down a heat that made the skin feel good. The sky swirled in various tones of blue that made a person believe they could do anything just by looking at it. And the clouds were just there for the children to enjoy.

It was the kind of day for the people who hadn't been to the deepest pits of the Earth or seen the kind of things a man is willing to do when he has not one ounce of innocence left in him. It was the kind of day for the people on the sidewalk.

The day wasn't meant for Eames.

Only time would tell if it was a day meant for Arthur.

The car made a left, allowing a golden ray of sunshine to burst through the window and cast its gloriousness on Arthur's white, clammy skin. Whether it was the bright light that bounced of the lake water dripping from Arthur's black hair down his ashen face or just Arthur himself, Eames closed his eyes against the burning sensation in his eyes.

With his eyes closed, the feeling in his hands became dominant. He felt thick drops of warm blood slip through his fingers and could almost count four seconds as each one slid down his fingers and slowly slipped over his knuckles to their highest point before they retracted from his skin and dropped on to his pant leg, leaving only a bright red stain behind to mark their descent upon his rough skin.

It was a scenario he was all too familiar with. The lives of some of his fellow soldiers had once ran down his fingers. They were his brothers at the time. Brothers that fought together, lived together. They were brothers because the uniform made them. When he put his on and stood in front of one of them, they looked the same. They resembled one another. They shared the same fears. They wore the same facades. They fought for the same things, the same way. They were his brothers molded by material, molded by the deepest pits of the Earth.

But every time their blood ran down his fingers, that's all it was. It was their blood. It wasn't his. And in the moment of opening his eyes once again, upon seeing the blood seeping through the cracks he couldn't fill, sliding down his fingers, soaking into his pants, he realized something he would never be able to forget.

The blood staining his hands was not only Arthur's blood, but it was his blood.

It was the kind of thing a man could lose and realize its absence the moment it disappeared. Before, back in the military, someone would shout _how much blood has he lost?_ and all Eames could ever respond with was one word phrases. _Little. Excess. Enough. _Had Cobb turned around and asked him about Arthur, Eames could have probably told him an exact amount, because the weakness spreading through the point man was quivering deep inside a place of Eames the forger had almost lost sight of back in his days of the war.

Eames was lost in his head and the car turned right, his body leaning with it. The movement joggled Arthur's form enough that heavy lidded eyes stared up at him. He swallowed thickly and if it hadn't been for the grimace ghosting across Arthur's face he wouldn't have realized he had pressed down harder on the wound.

He watched the tight lines around the point man's eyes and mouth relax into the smoothest surface they could, before they changed shape again. It was a mold so unfamiliar that Eames felt that deep place inside him quiver just a bit more. He blinked and allowed his eyes to take a second chance to determine what was happening.

There on the side of Arthur's face, the side that wasn't lying against the top of his thigh, a thin line framed around the corner of the point man's mouth. The corner was turned up showing some kind of emotion Eames had never seen, nor expected to. But the grin was the farthest thing from his mind.

His mind was transfixed on the indention just out to the side of the lines in Arthur's face. An indention of something Eames had assumed had been stripped of the point man at an age way too young. There, in that moment, as the very life of him was running out, innocence appeared on his face.

For a brief second, Eames wondered if this was the real reason Arthur always had a hard look on his face. A boy trying to hide his last ounce of unworldliness from greedy people drowning in reality. But with innocence permanently stamped on your face in a dimple, it was probably a hard life to live. People always thinking less of you, thinking that you had no idea what the world was really like and would never know.

But Arthur did know. Eames wasn't sure how or when dream sharing became the only type of dreams Arthur knew, but he knew Arthur no longer dreamed for himself, dreamed of light. Arthur's dreams were dark, blanketed by the horrors of reality and so had not let light show on his face, had not allowed his boyish dimples to show.

"What are you grinning at, darling?" Eames' voice was smooth and in its usual tone.

Innocence deepened the indention on the side of his face so much so that he felt the grin on the other side of Arthur's face on his thigh. The point man's eyes were half mast and glazed, staring at nothing but the wet material of the forger's shirt, but seeing something, his body feeling something, that Eames wasn't aware of.

Arthur didn't respond and in the wake of the silence he had come to realize he appreciated Arthur's characteristic glare much more than the smile on his face. The glare was familiar and something Eames could feel too.

"What is it?" Eames asked again, not sure if he wanted to know. "Are you picturing Ariadne naked again?" He grinned, but it didn't feel companionable.

He felt movement against him for the first time, other than the blood oozing down his hands. Arthur had barely shaken his head. What would have sounded like a cough to anyone else but Eames and probably Cobb, escaped from Arthur's mouth in a quiet snort of laughter.

Eames stared almost dumbfounded. Did it really take the darkest of realities so that light could shine? Did it take the trade of Arthur's life for laughter?

"You...ac-actually appear...conc- conc...concerned for ...me."

Eames could forge anything. He could forge anyone, anything, any emotion he needed to. But something he could never forge was Arthur. Arthur despite all his predictability, was a solid canvas with patterns underneath.

"I'm afraid you're a bit delirious. I'll admit to concern, but it isn't for you. It's for my clothes. I told you earlier what would happen if you got blood on them."

"You only...s-said your...shirt...which is perfectly...blood free."

"You better hope so."

Suddenly, the dimple was gone. Replaced with the glare that made Eames breathe a little easier.

They didn't wear a uniform. They didn't resemble one another. They didn't share all of the same fears. They didn't wear the same facade. They weren't molded by a material. They hadn't seen the deepest pits of the Earth together, although they had been in some dark places. They weren't soldiers. But somehow, despite it all, the blood running down his hands was the blood of his brother.

Eames grinned down at him and applied more pressure to the wound despite the pain it caused the point man because if he lost Arthur he knew the blood stains on his hands would never wash away.

**AN: So this will have at least one more chapter! Maybe two. Let me know what you think! Thanks for reading! :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**I deeply apologize for making you all wait this long for an update! I hit a writer's block for this story, started others and pretty much abandoned this. But I will finish this story! There's only one more chapter to go! But I hope you enjoy this extremely late update! **

* * *

Arthur wouldn't remember it.

He wouldn't remember the ride to Devohn's. He wouldn't remember how the man saved his life.

He wouldn't remember waking up for the first time either, but before he could even pry his heavy eyelids open, the smell of whiskey hit him hard enough to make his head spin. He drew it in deep through his nostrils and let it burn in his throat and swarm through his body, the heat licking his skin. A false memory of drowning his sorrows in a glass of it came to mind. It was easier to believe than the truth.

Death had been knocking at his door.

The whiskey burned out and the metallic smell of blood swelled in the air and like a gust of wind it danced around him fast enough to make him dizzy. He felt like he was going with it, hovering and gliding across the ground like a piece of paper blowing in the wind. It was an opulent feeling of peace, until the ground came up hard.

Pain seared through his shoulder like the tip of a knife cutting through cloth and ran through the rest of his chest. He felt his throat constrict and heard the muffled sound of his own groan against the blood rushing in his ears. The hard surface below him felt rough against his fingertips as they tried to dig into it to ride out the pain. His fingers began to sting and he recoiled them quickly, bringing them up off the surface to curl them into his chest protectively, but they were interjected. Something big and soft, yet with a rough surface caught him around the wrists.

He blinked sluggishly, barely opening his eyes to half mast each time. He rolled his head in frustration, as if his eyelids would snap up like shades on a window.

"Arthur?"

His eyes opened in an opaque world.

"Arthur? Can you hear me?"

He tried desperately not to blink, afraid that if he closed his eyes they would forever stay shut. Against his own accord, they sluggishly began their descent, blacking out the milky world around him. He felt his muscles constrict, before the idea of fighting to stay awake came to mind. He tried to pull his wrists free of their entrapments, afraid that they were the reason he was plunging back into darkness once again. It was cold and dark. It felt familiar, but not welcoming. He rolled his head again, this time with more force he realized he could produce, his skull connecting hard with what was below him. His throat constricted again but this time it didn't make that muffled groan, rough and deep. It was airy and quivery.

"Easy, darling. Take it easy."

He felt his teeth grind as the voice filtered through his ears. He wondered why the voice would make him do so, but he could almost hear his muscles sigh as they went lax, or maybe he had made the sound.

He opened his eyes with much less of a struggle, though they opened to half mast. The world was blurry, but not so much so that he couldn't make out distinct shapes. A man hovered above him, his face reminding him of the first job he pulled with Cobb.

He was seventeen and a quivering at the knees kind of boy with his chest stuck out way too far for his own good. He had something to prove to the world, or maybe the world had something to prove to him. Either way, he held the gun between his hands in a fierce grip that made his knuckles turn white as they shook and his heart hammered in his chest.

The gun was as empty as he felt.

He had died at the tip of a blade being thrust into his chest on that first job. He had had that strike of fear like a bolt of lightning as he watched his blood pour out. When he stumbled back he had caught a glimpse of Cobb looking anything but worried. He felt himself fall and prayed he was falling out of the world, because at seventeen he shouldn't have been plunged that deep into reality.

He fell, but went deeper than he could ever imagine. He woke up back where he started, but felt as though life just got that much longer and it wasn't a settling feeling. Cobb had hovered over him, his face twisted deeper into that guilt ridden face of his he tried desperately to cover.

The man above him had the same look molding his face, but it wasn't Cobb. He let his eyes run down the man's face and followed his arms to his hands where they circled around his wrists that looked like spaghetti noodles in handcuffs. It would have been a humorous observation had the man's hands not been so red. He didn't have to look twice to know that the red was that of a stain.

It was the stain of blood. His blood. His life. It was the stain of him upon the man's hands. It weaved around the bones and veins looking just as vital.

"I know I'm charming to look at, but neither one of us hit for that team so save it for Ariadne would you?"

The voice tore his gaze away from the hands. He met the man's face again. A smirk, marred by sleep deprivation, what appeared to be concern and what was unmistakably guilt, was displayed like a forgery.

"Eames." Realization hit him in the chest and he swallowed thickly against it, his eyes closing ever so slowly.

"Yours truly."

He felt the man's hands leave his wrists and he dropped them across his stomach. Eames stood from sitting on the edge of whatever he was laying on and nudged his leg. "Go back to sleep, Arthur."

He wanted to protest, to resist. His eyes wouldn't grant him disobedience and started their descent.

"Why?" He muttered desperately trying to get free of the grip exhaustion had on him.

He heard a soft chuckle. "Because you need it."

"No." His voice was harsh and he swallowed thickly as he pried his eyes open to see Eames. The forger's back was to him with his head turned to look over his shoulder. "Why is it... on your hands?"

Eames' head suddenly turned away from him. He felt himself being pulled back into that dark place again, but instead of fighting it he let it claim him because he didn't deserve to be in a world where no one could look at him.

Arthur wouldn't remember any of it, but he wouldn't need to.

After all, stains are hard to remove.

* * *

Eames stood in the bathroom in Devohn's place. It was in the basement of a rundown apartment building and the toilet, shower and small sink with a medicine cabinet hanging above it had been crammed into a tiny room that was just a little bit bigger than a closet. A single low-hanging lightbulb descended from the cracking ceiling, giving off a dull yellow light that made the dirt and grime stand out that much more.

The forger's large hands grasped the sides of the sink as he let the weight of his shoulders hang between his arms. It was a wonder the sink didn't break. He glanced at his reflection in the mirror trying to recognize himself. He came up empty, which was better than staring at it long enough to figure it out and dropped his head once more between his arms.

The faint smear of blood in the cracks and crevasses of his rough skin stood out more than the veins protruding in his hands. He sighed heavily and resisted the urge to run them down his face. He pushed himself away form the sink, ducking when the back of his head hit the lightbulb making it swing back and forth. He watched it sway with squinted eyes as his back found the wall behind him. His spine rolled up against it and his knees buckled, sending him sliding to the floor.

He brought his elbows to rest on top of his thighs so he could look at his hands. He traced the faint patterns of the stains on one hand with the index finger of the other. For a moment, it was all he could see, but he blinked and in a split second he was staring at Arthur laying on the wooden slab that Devohn had requested that Arthur be laid on.

Death had been so close.

He shook his head and he could see the stains again, the stains of Arthur's life on his hands.

"It'll come off."

Eames, despite his pride, jumped at the voice that wasn't his, that wasn't in his head. He looked up to see Cobb standing in the doorway.

He cleared his throat and looked back down at his hands. "What are you talking about?"

Cobb was silent a moment, staring down at the forger with a practiced look, before moving to lean against the sink in front of Eames. "Your hands."

"What about them?" The forger asked, making fists with both.

He heard Cobb sigh and could barley see the extractor run a hand through his hair.

"Arthur was seventeen."

Eames suddenly looked up, but cursed inwardly when he realized that's what Cobb had wanted. He kept his gaze.

"He was seventeen the first time I-" Cobb paused while the memory played out in his head, flashing like an old picture show. He shook his head once. "He died on the first job by a knife to the chest."

Eames snorted and shook his head, though it was anything but humorous.

"Now I had told him that death in a dream just meant that he would wake back up, but when it happened, you know, there was those few seconds..." Cobb trailed off and the forger noticed the glazed look in his eyes when his mind got trapped. The extractor shook his head and looked back at Eames. "It is easy to feel responsible for him. I get that. But what he did, it was his choice."

"Your point?"

Cobb pushed himself away from the sink and walked toward the doorway.

"Wash the rest of the blood off your hands, before you can't get it off."

Eames looked back to his hands. "Did you?"

Cobb stopped in the threshold of the door, one hand resting on the frame as he turned back to Eames.

The extractor didn't say anything, and Eames knew he wouldn't have to. After all, silence is the most definitive 'no'.

* * *

**AN: Once again I apologize for how long it has been! One more chapter to go though! I will get it posted! Thanks for reading and sticking with me. Let me know what you think! **


End file.
